


Alternate

by cadmiumred



Category: Star Trek: The Next Generation, Star Trek: The Next Generation (Movies)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-19
Updated: 2014-08-24
Packaged: 2018-01-05 04:24:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 15,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1089588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cadmiumred/pseuds/cadmiumred
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sequel to Parallel. Beverly Crusher is confronted with an alternate path - and starts to face some unsettling realizations. AU. Completed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Captain Beverly Crusher opened her eyes to the grey-blue ceiling of Sickbay, an arc of pain shooting around her left side, down her arm and into her wrist. She sucked in a breath and made a sound in her throat - _good god, my ribs are broken_ \- and suddenly there were two doctors kneeling beside her, starting to treat her.   
  
"Lie still, Captain," one of them instructed. _Not a problem_ , Beverly thought.   
  
As an analgesic began to take hold, she was able to loosen her clenched jaw, suck in a careful breath to try to calm the nausea from the sudden trauma. She looked up at the two doctors. She didn't recognize either of them. A moment ago she was the bridge of the Pasteur, and now she was flat on her back in a Sickbay that didn't look anything like the Pasteur’s, with medical staff she didn’t recognize. A flutter of worry bloomed in her stomach.  
  
Someone walked up beside them and drew in a sharp breath. She carefully turned her head to look up - and locked eyes with Jean-Luc Picard. _The last I heard his ship was a quadrant away...where the hell am I?_ She looked more closely at him - he looked…weary. And anxious. Slightly horrified, even.  
  
“Take her to a private room," he ordered hoarsely. After a moment, the doctors stopped treating her and helped her up to her feet. Before she could say a word they guided her into a small examination cove. And with a quiet order from Picard they both left, the door sliding shut behind them. She watched them leave, realizing that her treatment had been rushed - and that she could use some more pain relief.   
  
Picard and Crusher were alone in the small examination room. Picard walked over and stood in front of her, infuriated, jaw clenched. "Who are you?" he demanded. She actually drew back slightly at his outburst, unnerved by his intensity, confined within such a small space...and then she was irritated as hell. _Why is he treating me like this? And my ribs still hurt, damn it._    
  
“Who are you?” she retaliated. "I was on my ship, sitting on my bridge, when suddenly I find myself on the floor of your Sickbay with three broken ribs and a sprained wrist. Where am I?" She felt her eye twitch in anger, tried to cross her arms but it hurt too much.  
  
"This is the Enterprise, and I am the captain of this ship. Now, I'm going to ask again: _who are you_?" His voice dropped to a threatening whisper as he leaned forward, centimeters away from her face.   
  
She matched his steely gaze. "My name is Beverly Crusher-" she watched him flinch at her introduction -  "and I am the captain of the Pasteur. Where the _hell_ is my ship, Jean-Luc?"  
  
He leaned back slightly, paused for a long moment, and when he spoke again, it was surprisingly, unexpectedly much quieter, weary. "There is no Pasteur in the Federation fleet. And there is no Beverly Crusher in this universe. I think you're a bit out of place."  
  
And with that subdued statement, Picard simply turned and left the room, waved the doctors back in and Beverly sat on the biobed as they continued her the treatment. She remained silent, not sure what to do next. _I'm in the wrong damn universe._  
  
Finally, finally the doctors left, leaving her alone with her thoughts. She debated whether to try to leave the room - _but really, where would I go? This isn’t my ship._  She got down from the bed, went over to the screen and pulled up the ship specs and command roster. This was indeed an Enterprise; the ship was new – just a few years old. _I don’t recognize a single name on the command roster, though._  
  
She turned around as the door opened and Picard walked in again. She crossed her arms (this time without pain) and raised a brow. He stopped, tugged his uniform, began to speak quietly.   
  
"Beverly, we've determined the problem - you came through an anomaly into our universe. We're outfitting a shuttle that will take you back into the anomaly - and back to your ship, in your universe."  
  
She nodded cautiously. "Thank you."  
  
He shifted nervously, then sighed and leaned against the wall, and it was as if his command persona slid off of him, and suddenly she was looking at a very different man. There was longing, apology, in his open gaze. She blinked in surprise.  
  
"I...I have to apologize, Beverly. In my universe, your counterpart was killed three years ago. She was my wife. Meeting you is...unsettling."  
  
Beverly stopped breathing. It all fell into place - his brisk reaction upon seeing her on the floor of his Sickbay, the insistent demand for an introduction, the infuriation at her very presence on his ship…he wasn’t angry. He was _heartbroken_ , and here she was, appearing out of nowhere, making him…remember. She swallowed, astonished at his revelation - and the churning emotions that had now surfaced within her.   
  
The comm chimed. "Captain Picard, the shuttle is ready,"  
  
"Thank you. Picard out." He looked at Beverly, and there was a softness, a sadness around his eyes. "Let's get you home,” he murmured.  
  
xxxxxxx  
  
Their walk to the shuttle bay was short and silent. They didn't speak, and she kept her eyes forward, even in the lift. But out of the corner of her eye, she watched him gaze at her.   
  
When they arrived in the shuttle bay, she went straight into the single roundabout and he followed close behind. The engineering crew gave her instructions, then stepped out, leaving the two of them alone in the middle of the vessel.   
  
She met his gaze for the first time since Sickbay. "Thank you for the shuttle, Jean-Luc."  
  
He responded with a slight, sad smile. "You're quite welcome, Beverly. Be safe.” He stood in front of her, seemingly reluctant to leave.  
  
Her heart ached. This wasn’t _her_ Jean-Luc, but it was _a_ Jean-Luc and he looked as though he was losing the woman he loved all over again. Without letting herself overthink it, she stepped forward and took him in her arms.   
  
“Oh, Jean-Luc,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry.” She _was_ sorry - sorry for his loss, sorry about causing him pain, about misinterpreting his anger, about leaving. She didn’t belong in this universe…but she cared about him, just the same.   
  
He sagged a bit into her arms, and she heard a quiet gasp that could very well have been a strangled sob. His fingers tangled in her hair and he pressed his cheek against hers. Finally, after a long moment, he drew back, used his fingers to gently, reverently push her hair back from her face. The tenderness in the gesture, in his eyes, it startled her and made her breath hitch in her throat.  
  
He tried to speak, failed, then whispered to her, holding her gaze. "May I kiss you?"  
  
Her eyes widened in surprise, but she found herself nodding without thinking, because really he sounded so vulnerable, and _hopeful_ , and how could she not say yes? And he simply leaned forward and kissed her.  
  
She felt the warmth of his skin, his mouth firm and sure against hers - it was comfortable, familiar, because she had kissed the other Jean-Luc, _her_ Jean-Luc, a handful of times over the years - but this was better.  _So_ much better. It was _good_. It felt _right,_ and also bittersweet, all at the same time.  
  
He pulled back first, leaving her breathless and disoriented, opening her eyes to see his kind, sad eyes. "Go home to him, Beverly. He can't help but love you." And with a sad, wistful smile, he reluctantly drew back, turned and left the shuttle.   
  
In a daze, she went to the front, sat down and began running through the pilot sequences automatically. With a concerted effort, she pushed aside her swirling emotions, promising herself that she would examine them once she got home.   
  
xxxxxxx  
  
With a carefully calculated jump to warp and an odd, shifting hum, the shuttle slid through the anomaly and Beverly felt...right again. She was home.  
  
And there it was - her ship displayed on the viewscreen. Beverly sighed in relief.   
  
xxxxxxx  
  
Back on the Pasteur, she spent the next hours with the senior crew; nearly half of the ship's crew had disappeared just like she had. The anomaly sent them into universes similar to what she encountered - alternate realities with divergent pathways from different life choices. Amazingly enough, all had been returned within hours, and no one had any truly life threatening injuries.  
  
As she walked back to her quarters, she realized that the ship's counselors were going to be quite busy over the coming days; there were going to be a lot of people who needed to talk about paths not taken. And the engineering crew was going to have a field day, with no fewer than three hundred new shuttles to explore, docked in the bays or orbiting the ship, coming from a vast array of different universes.   
  
Finally, finally she walked into her quarters. Now that she knew that her ship was safe and her crew was restored, she wanted nothing more than a shower, something to eat and to crawl into bed. As she crossed the room to go to the bedroom, she saw the indicator light on the terminal. "Computer, list notifications,"  
  
"One recorded subspace message from Captain Jean-Luc Picard."   
  
She stopped abruptly in the middle of the room. Memories flooded back - the other Jean-Luc’s expression in Sickbay, the revelation about his marriage, the feel of his mouth against hers, the gentle touch of his fingers against her skin... "Computer, play message."  
  
The viewscreen on the desk lit up, revealing her Jean-Luc’s familiar face.   
  
"Beverly, I miss you. Something...interesting has happened. I would like to see you. Perhaps we should try to spend some time together soon, just you and I..."


	2. Chapter 2

The sting of tears hit her eyes as she heard his voice. There was a tone to his voice that she had rarely heard before. It was normally reserved for statements of regret, of loss, of opportunities passed over.

She did love him. She had for years. And she had pushed him away after Kes Prytt because she feared that a failed romance would wreck their friendship that was both tenuous and absolutely steadfast.

And now this message, coming right on the heels of her experience in that other universe. And the look on his face. Er, the  _other's_  face. It was all colliding together, now.

"Computer: record response. Begin: 'Jean-Luc, I miss you too. Let's talk.' End recording. Transmit immediately."

* * *

Unfortunately, making up one's mind to explore possibilities didn't mean that life went smoothly in response. Setting up a real time conversation took more time than it should have, due to their ship's itineraries and locations. Between the misplaced delegations and crew members and the general uproar and confusion across the quadrant it took two weeks of planning.

As the days passed and her ship was being put back together (she kept going down to the extremely full shuttle bays just to watch her enthralled engineers) she refused to allow herself to think about what he might say.

The morning of their message day, she laid in bed, wondering if indeed her experiences with the…other one, if they really were simply just an aberration, that her Jean-Luc ( _Ah, Beverly, it's problematic to call him "yours"_ ) had messaged her to be polite (because she knew they had been  _polite_  to each other for nearly thirty years), and that their upcoming conversation wouldn't  _actually_  mean anything. It would be just two good friends, catching up, sharing stories of shared displacement, and they would laugh softly, then say goodbye, and  _politely_  sign off.

Because they were  _friends_.

* * *

Their conversation was stilted, awkward. She was fidgety and wanted to ask if he had also encountered another universe, tell him about her own brief, unsettling experience, but they just sat across from each other on the viewers and stared uncomfortably. They chatted about nothing in particular - their ships, the crew, the potential for a new warp core in her vessel, a reconfiguration of the arboretum on his.

After just a few minutes, she found herself crumbling on the inside. Yes, he was simply contacting her to be polite, because they were  _friends_ , and she should really just go ahead and sign off and enfold that other experience back into her heart, pretend that she hadn't been ideating about possibilities in her universe, because nothing had really changed for him, and really, had it changed for her? No, because here they were chatting like  _friends_  do-

Abruptly, he slumped down in his chair, looking defeated, and rubbed his head. "Beverly, this is uncomfortable," he murmured.

Her jaw dropped. Polite, careful Jean-Luc had disappeared, leaving this…well, this somewhat weary man on the screen in front of her.

"We need to spend some time together," he bluntly stated, and her eyes widened in surprise. She swallowed, suddenly nervous in a new way, not quite sure how to respond. He raised his hands, then, opening himself to her, beckoning some sort of response. "I, that is...we are better when we are together. Face to face, I mean."

She felt her cheeks warm at the many meanings of his words, and started to giggle ( _goodness, Beverly, you're_ giggling) as he in turn became flustered. It felt as if the ice had finally broken.

And then they were interrupted by a red alert siren on her ship.

* * *

Two days later, she was still simmering about the faulty warp core monitor. The crew knew it, too. But she didn't care to explain that she was pissed at the monitor more because it interrupted her conversation with Jean-Luc than because her ship could have imploded.

She was sitting at her terminal in her ready room, reviewing reports. A notification appeared. It was a message from Jean-Luc. Simple, text only, with a set of coordinates embedded in the message.

She pulled up the coordinates and on screen appeared the database entry for a restful vacation planet. It looked lovely. Warm temperatures near the equator, temperate forests up north, snow-covered mountains dappled across the continents, and quiet places to just...be.

It looked restful. Beautiful.  _Romantic_.

Jean-Luc had invited her to a romantic planet for shore leave.

She swallowed as an unsettling blossom of hope began to form in her core.

 


	3. Chapter 3

He sent her the message before he could talk himself out of it. Her reply arrived in the middle of the night - short, clear and affirming.

They scheduled a time to speak face to face and he put the date in his schedule and resolved to push away distracting thoughts of her. There was a ship to manage and an anomaly to catalogue.

For four days, he tried to push away the thoughts, distract himself with work. On the fifth day, after a mind-numbingly boring shift on the bridge where all he did was sit there and think about Jack, and Beverly, and his role in their lives, he went to the gymnasium. He normally exercised in the holodeck, away from the crew. But today he set out to exhaust himself on the gymnasium track, ignoring the curious looks from the handful of other runners in the gym. Afterwards, sweaty and sore, he went back to his quarters, showered, ate and dropped into bed, almost immediately falling asleep.

He dreamed of her. Vividly. He was next to her, and her mouth was pressed against his neck so he could feel the humid warmth of her breath. He slid his hand over her hair, across her neck and down her shoulder, the upper curve of her breast beginning to fill his palm, and she made an indistinct sound-

He woke up gasping for breath, tense and aroused in the middle of the night. And utterly alone.

His waking moments became filled with her. To the point where he couldn't tell what was an actual memory (like the feel of his palm against her upper back as he guided her out of the transporter room) and what was the ghost of a memory (whenever he stood too close to her in the conference room, in plain sight of the entire senior crew) and what was an imagined occurrence (the feel of her underneath him on the couch).

* * *

On the seventh day, he realized that he loved her. He  _loved_  her. The realization stopped him in the middle of the corridor. That other Jean-Luc had held the mirror Beverly at arm's length, and they had never even tried, and then it was too late.

He and his Beverly were skittering entirely too close to that fate, had been skirting around that edge for years. He didn't blame her for withdrawing after Kesprytt, because really, when they were on the same ship, and there would be so many prying eyes watching their every move, it would have been complicated. But he had been willing to at least  _try_  and her gentle (at least it had been gentle) refusal had made his heart ache.

Now? They were across the quadrant from each other, leading separate lives. And he didn't want to do that anymore.

Did she feel the same way? He didn't know. But the mirror Beverly's words echoed in his head daily. "If I'm back in your universe, don't wait until it's too late. She loves you, I'm guessing."

* * *

When she appeared on his viewscreen, his carefully crafted plans for conversation dissolved. She was lovely. Her hair was even longer than he expected, past her shoulders, and her smile was genuine, if a bit guarded.

His breath caught in his throat – so much was at stake - and feeling flustered he began to make small talk with her, sliding into old patterns of conversation. As they exchanged meaningless, superficial stories, he watched her grow increasingly unsettled. At one point, he saw her eyes flick quickly to the bottom of her monitor, as if she was considering ending the conversation.

No. He wasn't about to let her go. It was now or never. "Beverly, this is uncomfortable," he murmured.

At her startled expression, he continued. "We need to spend some time together," he told her, leaning forward, the words spilling out of him. "I, that is...we are better when we are together. Face to face, I mean."

Immediately he realized what he had said, and he watched as she began to laugh, genuine mirth rising into her expression for the first time in their short conversation. And he saw a softness - she hadn't said a word, but he knew - he  _knew_  - she was going to come and meet him eventually.

And then they were interrupted by a red alert siren on her ship.

* * *

Three months. In three months, they would meet on the quiet little planet, just the two of them.

"Captain?"

She turned her head and refocused on her first officer, sitting across from her in the ready room, looking a touch apprehensive at her inattention.

"My apologies. I asked you here today to let you know that I'll be taking a leave of absence in three months. The ship will be yours."

* * *

The Pasteur had been a temporary assignment that extended to one year, then two. But it was time for her to move on. She had finally admitted to herself that while being a captain was wonderful, her heart belonged in research and the practice of medicine. A short message to Medical secured her place back on Earth; they would welcome her whenever she chose to arrive.

Her final three months on the Pasteur went surprisingly quickly, and it felt right. So, with a series of departure gatherings, a handoff to the first officer and a few tears, she took her little shuttle and headed towards the planet to meet Jean-Luc.

 


	4. Chapter 4

Picard took his little shuttle down and docked it, took his swing pack and walked on the crunchy snow up towards the cabin. It was a brisk walk but it felt good to breathe in the fresh mountain air. It felt different.

The Enterprise was taking on a routine survey several systems over - close enough that his shuttle could get him back in a day, but far enough that he felt like he was truly on leave.

The crew had been very, very curious as to why he was going on leave. His first officer dared to ask, and he simply said that he was meeting a friend. The first officer had smiled knowingly, then changed the subject. Picard wondered fleetingly how many bets were on the identity of his "friend." No matter.

He had the cabin for two weeks. He hadn't asked how long she planned on staying with him. He trusted that they would have enough time to just...be. There was so much he wanted to tell her - about the parallel universe, about the other Beverly, about his love for her, about his hopefulness that while after Kesprytt it wasn't the right time, perhaps now was the right time to see if they could move their deep friendship to something else.

* * *

The walk from her shuttle to the cabin was brisk, and she was thankful that all she had brought with her was a small swingpack. But she regretted not bringing a coat. As she watched her breath form puffs of condensation in the air, she absently wondered if there was a replicator. Surely there was a replicator within the cabin. Just because the cabin looked rustic and charming didn't mean that it didn't have modern amenities. After all, she and Jean-Luc had had their share of rustic experiences, including (but not limited to) huddling on the bottom on a cave, keeping her distracted from her injuries, lying beside each other at Kesprytt, trying not to listen to the other's thoughts, and ducking their ways through Cardassian catacombs.

With a final huff, she reached the cabin, knocked on the door, then went in. It was an older door model, with a handle, and she had to push against it with her weight to enter. Inside was warm, warmer than what the fireplace would provide on its own, she noted absently. She was surrounded by inviting, rustic wooden beams and shelving with interesting rocks and natural sculptures all around. Three small, inviting couches were in the center of the room, arranged around a plush floor covering that begged for bare feet, and what had to be another room around the corner. She stepped inside, pushed the door closed behind her, and bent to put her carryall on the floor beside the door - and he came around the corner with a towel in hand, wearing a dark shirt and pants and a nervous but hopeful expression. She froze awkwardly, half-bent, at the sight of him.

He came up to her slowly, almost tentatively. She straightened up from putting her swingpack down, and stood there by the door, carefully looking at him, then sucked in a breath and reminded herself to breathe.

She was nervous. Horribly nervous. Stomach-churning, sweaty palm nervous. She hadn't been nervous when she left the Pasteur, she managed her anxiety on board the shuttle, but now she thought she might begin to shake. They had maintained this intense, deep friendship for so long, and now they were going to upset the balance, and what if it didn't work? What if this wasn't what he wanted? What if she realized that she didn't want him in this way?

He stopped directly in front of her. They had always had a lax definition of personal space, and this was a prime example. He was so close that she could feel the warmth radiating off of him, and suddenly she was stifling hot in her light jacket.

"Beverly," he said quietly, carefully, and she searched his gaze, and yes, she observed that he  _was_ happy to see her. A weight lifted off of her shoulders; she didn't know exactly  _what_  he was thinking, but there was  _something_  there - this was more than simply being  _polite_ , being  _friends_.

On an impulse, she leaned forward and pressed her lips against his cheek, inhaled. He smelled the same - the same as his counterpart, the same as he always had, all of these years, because she knew him and had known him for so long. She lingered for a few seconds, just drinking in the warmth of him, and she felt and heard him slowly exhale.

Reluctantly, she drew back a bit and found him staring intently at her, utterly focused, and then he leaned forward and kissed her on the mouth. Her eyes fluttered closed at the contact. It was a focused, yet leisurely kiss, and she felt herself relax, tension flowing out of her.

Finally, after a long moment, she pulled back and slowly opened her eyes. He was looking at her again and there was no veil, no mask, no persona covering his expression. Yes, there was most certainly love in his gaze.

"Hello," she whispered, feeling as though her greeting was the beginning of a new season.

"I'm glad you came." he murmured.

 


	5. Chapter 5

She leaned against the counter in the kitchen, still not entirely sure how she got there after their lovely, distractingly pleasant kiss and greeting. She watched him pull out items from the cooling unit. She was pretty sure that they were not replicated (but there  _was_  a replicator subtly situated in the wall, thank goodness). As he pulled out a bottle of wine, he stopped, placing it on the counter, still holding it by the neck.

After a pause, he tentatively glanced over to her. "We don't have to eat. Would you rather go hiking? I hear there are some lovely trails and paths close by. Or if you'd like to rest-"

"Let's open up that bottle of wine and catch up." She smiled at his willingness to let her set the pace. And to be honest, she wanted nothing more than a glass of wine (it would most certainly be a wonderful vintage if he selected it) and conversation. Standing in the same room as him was comfortable. She remembered how comfortable it had been all these years.

"I'll be right back," she told him, and went back and grabbed her swingpack, intending on changing out of her travel clothes. She peeked around the corner of a hallway and found a lovely, spacious bedroom. As she entered, she appreciated the minimal decor - simple, dark forest green bedding, two chairs beside the window, and an entryway into a spacious bathroom with a generous soaking tub. She changed clothes, leaving her swingpack by a chair, and went into the bathroom to freshen up.

She wondered how many bedrooms were in the cabin, and decided not to worry about it at that particular moment.

* * *

She stepped back into the kitchen, feeling much more comfortable, and he looked up from the counter and a pile of fruit, his gaze sliding down and then up her figure. She was very glad that she had packed the violet dress; it was her favorite, but she never wore it back on the Pasteur for some reason, even when she was alone in her quarters. The fabric was soft and light and yet warm and she liked the way it felt upon her skin.

He looked pleased. "You look lovely. As always." he smiled and looked back down at the counter, where he had begun separating bunches of grapes. She went over beside him, took a block of cheese and a knife and began to slice. Their silence was restful.

He moved the grapes to a bowl, then picked up two apples and plunged them into the sink basin, underwater.  _How traditional_ , she thought. Methodically, he began to slice them, the two of them standing side by side in the small kitchen. And he began to speak.

"There was an alternate universe…" And as she sliced the cheese and then moved onto the fruit, she listened as he told her about his experience - awakening in Sickbay, meeting Jack, then her counterpart coming to him, seemingly to say goodbye, and then - he stopped.

"What did she do?" She looked at him and saw the tension in his shoulders, wondered what happened in that universe. He looked over at her then, and she steadily met his eye, mentally praising herself for not shaking in nervousness.

"She kissed me. And told me to go back home. To you." He drew in a breath, still holding her gaze. "These past few years, you and I have drifted apart. Once I was on the new Enterprise, I realized that I missed you more acutely than I ever expected. I tracked the Pasteur, you realize. Kept watch on where you were."

He blinked, and then she was shocked to see his eyes become rimmed in red. "But after the experiences in the alternate universe, I realize that I could certainly survive without you, but it wouldn't truly be living. I want to be beside you, in this life, if you'll have me."

He turned back to the counter, then. "And so I acknowledged my fears and sent you the message. And here we are." He set down the knife. "I'll be right back - I'm going to go collect some more firewood before it gets dark."

And he left the kitchen, and she heard him in the other room, putting on a coat, and then the main door shut, and she stood there beside the counter in shock, still holding a piece of slice of fruit in her hand.

* * *

In hindsight, she was somewhat relieved that he had given her a moment alone to process, to simply be. He had always been patient with her, and she had always pushed him, which was one of the reasons why what they had all these years worked so well. But sometimes she needed time alone.

She slowly began arranging the fruit on a platter. She had wondered whether he had had an experience in an alternate universe, whether it had been similar to hers. But even guessing about his experience had been a challenge. Too many variables, too many possibilities, no way to predict what he had experienced - or how he would react. And the fact that he had simply left the cabin revealed his conscientious care for her, yes, but it also revealed his own insecurities.

Perhaps he was as nervous as she was. And that realization made her smile.

 


	6. Chapter 6

He stepped into the cabin and pushed the door closed with his foot, arms full of wood. He knew that the cabin would stay warm without a fire or even enough wood, and he was damn well aware that Beverly had most likely realized the same thing. But as he put the wood down by the fireplace, he heard her call out from the kitchen.

"Glad you came back. I was just about to start on this bottle of wine without you." Kneeling, he grinned into the fire in response to her playful, familiar, realizing that the damn fire would continue to burn even if he never pout another long onto the pile of kindling.

"Be my guest, Beverly," he called out, laughing, rocking back onto his heels and pulling off the gloves, one finger at a time.

"It's been a long time since we shared a bottle of wine together, Jean-Luc." She sounded closer now. At her tone - cautious, and perhaps even a bit tentative - he cleared his throat.

"That is true," he said, then paused, not sure what else to say. At a soft footfall, he turned to see her carrying the bottle and two glasses into the front room. She looked down at him kneeling and smiled, digging her bare toes into the plush rug. "Why don't you go get that plate of fruit and cheese and bring it over here?"

* * *

The wine left him feeling soft and warm, relaxed, and more able to simply be present in the moment. He sat beside her, holding his almost empty glass, resting in her presence. It was good to be next to her. It had been a very long time since they had shared a meal, and even longer since they had shared a glass of wine.

"I worry that some crisis will occur, now that we're here," she mused with an impish smile, gazing at the fire as she took another sip.

He laughed, then sobered, turning to look directly at her. "Crises allow you and I to pretend that any actions or statements in the moment are to be blamed on extenuating circumstances. And then we simply return to our normal lives and pretend that we are the best of friends."

She swallowed. "We are friends," she said slowly, tentatively.

"Yes," he carefully responded, discreetly watching her for some sign. She blew out a breath and reached her hand out to him, still staring at the flames, and he grasped her hand with his own and felt her strong squeeze.

"We are more than friends," she murmured. "We're friends, Jean-Luc. And we're  _more_. Perhaps it's time to…" she trailed off, leaning her head back against the couch.

"I do love you, you know." The words slipped out before he could think about it. His half-formed musings about how he wanted to profess his love to her, when it would be the right time, how he wanted to look at her - they had all slipped away. The truth had slipped out.

Her face was neutral as she continued to gaze into the fire, but then it softened. And without warning she leaned over and kissed him. It was sweet, warm, and a bit awkward, because they were both still holding their wine glasses, but the feel of her mouth against his was something that actually took away his ability to be coherent. She drew back slightly, and he felt as much as heard her whisper against his lips.

"I do love you, you know," she breathed against him, echoing his words.

And he found himself smiling with joy against her mouth.

* * *

The wine glasses were on the table near the couch, along with the half-full bottle. She was under him, on her back, and his weight above her was delicious and warm. She honestly couldn't remember the last time she had been underneath someone on a couch. And while she and Jean-Luc had shared touches, leaned against each other, hugged over the years, this was much, much different.

It was most certainly intentional, that was for sure.

She appreciated how his shoulders were rather broad above her, and how his mouth was so very responsive, as he adjusted his kisses to her guidance, and it simply kept getting better. She hadn't been planning on climbing into bed (or onto a couch, for that matter) with him immediately, but now she was second-guessing that decision, because if it was this enjoyable now, it could only get better, right?

She felt him pull back and bury his face in the side of her neck, causing a breathy sigh to escape her lips. Opening her eyes, she looked up at the ceiling, with its exposed logs and modern lighting nestled in the dark spaces. His hands, which had been wandering tentatively around her waist, slowly began to slide up, cupping her ribcage, and a flutter appeared low in her stomach.

He froze, gripping her firmly, and cleared his throat against her neck. With a seemingly reluctant kiss against her neck, he pulled back, looking down at her. His eyes were bright, and he was very intensely focused. On her. Which was nice. More than nice. It was  _fantastic_. Good god, the two of them had chemistry. She had known it over the years. They had flirted with the intense energy between them but never had they acted upon it. Until now.

"I think we have about thirty years' worth of tension we're going to need to work through," he said quietly, eyes glittering with just the hint of a smile around the corners. And in response, she couldn't help but throw her head back and laugh in delight.


	7. Chapter 7

She was soft and pliant underneath him, leisurely, relaxed in her warm, soft kisses and occasional breathy sighs. He hadn't known what to expect, but this was better than he could have ever hoped. Finally, he forced himself to drag his lips away from her mouth and pressed his entire face against the humid warmth of her neck, attempting not to push, to demand. And when she looked up at him and laughed at his offhand remark about the tension, the chemistry between them? Her joy made him complete. Full and utterly complete.

"This has to be a dream, Beverly - you realize that I've wanted to be close to you like this for longer than I care to admit." Her eyes crinkled in happiness at his words, and a blossom of warmth kept spreading in his chest as he looked down at her.  _M_ _erde, I'm looking down at_ Beverly _, and she looks like a vision, red hair around her like a halo, lips soft and swollen..._

She laughed softly. "I know. I mean, I always let you lean against me in the conference room, in full view of everyone. I always wondered what they thought but refused to think about it, because I enjoyed the closeness. And now? Well, it's nice to have some privacy."

He blinked, sobering a bit. Yes, it  _was_  nice to have privacy. "And when we don't have privacy any longer?" And then he closed his mouth, pressed his lips together. He had assumed that of course, this...thing between them was permanent, or at the very least long term, but what if she had come to the cabin for a bit of shore leave, a diversion? Her ship was waiting for her-

"Jean-Luc,  _calm down_. I can see it all over your face - you're jumping to conclusions. We'll figure it out. We have time." She moved her hand from his back to his face, cupping his cheek.

"How much time do we have until you return to the Pasteur?" His tone sounded pressed, desperate, even to his own ears, and her face softened.

"Oh, Jean-Luc...I left the Pasteur. I'm going to Medical after this."

He stilled, searching her face. "Beverly, I planned on leaving the Enterprise within the year and going to France," he blurted, squeezing her ribs. "Stay with me."

She tilted her chin up slightly, an amused smile on her swollen lips. "You already have a Chief Medical Officer, and no ship needs two captains. And besides, I'd have nothing to do there. Let me get situated at Medical, and then you can come to Earth. And we'll be together."

He froze, then slowly sat up, helping her upright as well. There was no graceful way to do so, and she ended up nearly in his lap, legs entangled together, which was actually all right with him, and she seemed comfortable as well. Her felt her palms against his chest, warm through his shirt, and she slowly slid them up until she was cupping his face, and she leaned forward and kissed him sweetly.

"We'll figure it out," she murmured. "And I'm not leaving this cabin for a while. So we have time." She leaned forward and kissed him again, and this time it was deeper, longer. She pulled back with a gentle sigh and whispered to him. "Now, I think that you should go make me some dinner."

His amused snort set her off into a peal of laughter.

* * *

They were back in the kitchen, and she had retrieved the bottle of wine from the front room and was pouring another glass for them both as he pulled more food out of the cooling unit. Between the wine and the slightly drugging quality of his earlier kisses, she felt pretty good. She was torn, however - she wanted more of  _him_ , but she also  _really_  needed to eat something.

"What's wrong?" He continued to prepare the food, not looking at her.

She arched a brow. "What do you mean?"

"I can tell when you're thinking about something. What's wrong?"

"Ah...I can't decide if I want dinner or something else." At that, she watched him turn sharply and look at her intensely. Then he put down the plates he was holding, wiped his hands off on a cloth, and begin to walk towards her. His energy was intense, and she actually found herself stepping backwards until she was pressed against the wall beside the replicator, of all places. This was fun. And a touch unnerving, as well. He placed his hands on either side of her, against the wall, and very deliberately pressed his body against hers and moved his mouth towards her ear, his voice a husky, slow whisper.

"We can take this to the bedroom, or we can continue right here, or we could have a nice dinner together. It's up to you. But please do not tease me, Beverly, because I've wanted you for a very, very long time."

While he murmured into her ear, his hand had begun sliding up and down the curve of her hip, and suddenly she felt him nuzzle her neck, and he unexpectedly nipped and a quiet sound emerged from her throat. Distantly she realized she had simply responded to his nonverbal commands, and now here she was, pressed very firmly against the wall by the length of his body.

And her stomach growled and she burst into giggles at the sound, and felt as he grinned against her neck.

She was so happy. In that moment, she was beyond happy. She was content. She turned her head and kissed him on the cheek. "Well, my dear, I guess we have the answer to your question. Let's eat."


	8. Chapter 8

Dinner was quiet. Months ago she would have called it "polite" but now she could tell that his careful demeanor masked a tension that needed to be eased.

He was a good chef. When she finished, she set her fork and knife down and gazed at him across the table.

"I'm yours," she said, and stood up, watching him. He followed suit and she went into the bedroom. As she entered, she looked over her shoulder. He was carefully watching her, waiting for her next move. A shiver of anticipation slid down her spine.

"Will you undo this?" She turned away from him and presented her back, pulling her hair up, exposing her neck. She felt his hands as they gripped around her waist and she realized how broad they were as his fingers spanned her. Then his lips pressed against the base of her neck, and his fingertips were at the clasp at her neck and he undid her dress and began to expose her shoulders. She shivered in anticipation and sighed when she felt his mouth slide over to her shoulder blade.

* * *

The expanse of her skin on her back begged to be touched. So he did, and he was gratified to feel her shiver as he traced her spine with his fingertips.

She leaned back into him and he wrapped his arms around her. This was new for him and he was attempting to take it slow. But truly, he just wanted to devour her.

"Jean-Luc."

He kissed her neck. "Yes?"

"Yes. Whatever you want."

* * *

He was fascinated by the curve of her breasts as she laid on the bed underneath him. They were firm and soft at the same time, and amazingly sensitive. As he pressed his open mouth against her stomach, he squeezed a nipple and heard her strangled whimper, felt her twist underneath him as a shimmer of sweat covered her skin.

He had peeled off the dress moments ago to reveal black lace undergarments. The bra had come off immediately and her slightly surprised moan at the first touch of his palms had pleased him to no end.

He made his way lower, continuing to kiss her stomach, and he slid his fingers down and across the silky fabric covering her curve. The fabric was moist, warm, and he murmured against her skin. Then he leaned down and pressed his mouth against her, licked where he knew her nub was, and was gratified with her wordless cry and the rocking of her hips into his open mouth.

* * *

She needed him inside of her. Days ago, she had wondered over and over again if it would be a mistake for them to become intimate. Now she just needed him inside of her. It felt as though she needed to move, to be filled, to grab hold of him. All these years they had kept each other at (almost) arm's length and now she needed to be as close to him as she could.

The problem was that his mouth was making it hard for her to breathe. When he pulled off the black lace panties and began sliding his tongue against her, she lost the ability to think. She was responding more quickly than she had expected, and he was deliberately coaxing her towards a climax. She reached out for him and he grabbed her wrist and pressed it against the bed.

Fine. If he wanted her to release against his mouth, then that's what was going to happen. Fairly soon. She wasn't one to complain.

* * *

When he slid a finger inside of her and began to press up against the front of her, a cry emerged. He added a second finger; she froze, and then he felt her throb around him. Gently easing back, he kissed her inner thighs, then made his way up her body to gaze into her face.

He had never seen her quite like this. Lips swollen, skin flushed, content eyes looking back up at him as she drew his face down for a kiss.

She was slick and wet as he slid inside. Her face was open, tense, needy as he pushed into her. Her leg wrapped around him and she was tilting her hips up when she froze and her eyes rolled back, then closed, and he felt her throb around him. She undid him.

* * *

After cleaning up, she went back into the bedroom to find him propped up against the abundant pillows, half covered by the sheets. Holding his gaze, she climbed back into bed and he shifted to bring her against his side, arm around her. As she nestled against him, he turned and engulfed her in his arms, burying his face against her hair.

"I wish that we could simply stay here forever, Beverly."

She smiled against his chest. "Me too."

And she was content there, in his arms, as she drifted off to sleep, lulled by his gentle breathing.

* * *

She woke in the morning to an empty bed. As she listened, she thought she heard noises from the kitchen. She got up and saw a dark blue robe laid on the chair by the bed.  _He must have replicated that for me_ , she thought with a gentle smile. She slipped it on and went to investigate.

Her legs were a bit sore. It was a good reminder of the previous night's activities. She entered the kitchen to find him pouring her a cup of coffee.

* * *

They sat beside the picture window, looking across the forest, snow capped mountains in the distance. She cupped her mug, sipping the rich brew.

"He was a widow. I didn't have nearly as much time there as you did in your experience. He wasn't you-" and she swallowed, nervous. Then she forced herself to continue, appreciating his patience.

"He made me think about possibilities. And then your message, and our conversations, and, well, here I am. So. Now what do we do?"

 


	9. Chapter 9

He laid awake for a long time, holding her as she slept.

He realized that he would do anything -  _anything_  - to be able to hold her every night as she slept in his arms. He had loved her from afar for so many years. One reason he kept himself from getting involved with her over the years is because he knew that once their personal lives were bound together, their professional lives would be inextricably intertwined.

But, weren't they already? From the guilt years ago when he loved his best friend's wife, to his reluctance to bring her on board the Enterprise, to the year she had been at Medical and he secretly pined for her. And then their awkward dance around each other for so many years, followed by the lonely months when he tracked her whereabouts on the Pasteur. They had been intertwined for years, decades, and now, they were together, and she was asleep in his arms. But their time in this cabin, away from the universe, was finite. He needed to end his tour on the Enterprise and join her on Earth as soon as possible.

He leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to the top of her head. "I will love you forever, Beverly," he whispered into the darkness.

* * *

As he climbed out of bed in the morning, he turned to see her reaching out for him in her sleep. Quietly, he padded out to the kitchen and began clearing the dishes from the night before. He was thinking about how she was asleep in his bed, after all of these years. And it had taken a parallel universe to make them come to their senses.

Eventually, the kitchen was cleared and coffee was started, and he scrolled through the replicator menu, searching for croissants. Sounds from the bedroom ( _our bedroom,_  he thought to himself) alerted him to a rising Beverly.

* * *

He sipped tea while she held a mug of coffee, and they sat in front of the picture window and watched the snow falling softly.

Her voice was soft. "Now what do we do?" He turned and looked at her and noted the tousled hair skimming her shoulders, the sliver of skin revealing that she most likely was not wearing anything else under the blue silk robe, the bright eyes that looked more rested than they had in months. He opened his mouth to speak - and stopped. He didn't know what was next. Perhaps he should simply not return to the Enterprise, go with her to Earth...

A distant chime distracted him, and he glanced over to where he had left his padd on the counter, by the wall as he swore under his breath in irritation. He had deliberately selected a cabin with a minimum of intrusion, but he had brought a padd, loaded with literature and reading. And now it was intruding upon their solitary existence. With a regretful glance, he got up, refusing to put down his tea, his calm mood vanishing.

The padd's display showed a message; he was being recalled to the Enterprise, to investigate the anomalies. A wave of anger rose up within. He didn't want to return to that life. He wanted to be with Beverly - he looked back over at the chairs, and she was gone.

"Beverly?"

* * *

If  _his_  padd was chiming, it had to be urgent. And she had been out of communication with Medical for two days. While he was scrolling, she got up and went back into the bedroom. The only thing that the Federation would contact him about while he was on leave would be urgent – something that cut across divisions.

Something like the anomalies.

She knelt down by the bed, went through her swingpack and pulled out her padd. The muffled chime rang through the air once it was free of her uniform, nestled near the bottom of the pack. Resting back on her heels, she unlocked the device and began to read the waiting message.

* * *

He found her sitting by the bed, tapping on the surface of her device. She glanced up at him momentarily. "You're being recalled to the Enterprise. Everyone is being recalled to their ships. The anomalies are causing rifts in space."

He looked down at her in surprise. "How did you know that?"

"Because I'm being recalled to Medical to investigate the effects." She gazed up at him, sitting there on the floor in the robe he replicated for her, eyes bright blue in the morning sunlight, and she sighed and patted the floor beside her. "We knew this cabin, this time away - it was too good to be true. Duty calls."

He sat down beside her, inwardly groaning at the movement. He was a bit sore, still, and she seemed more comfortable on the floor than he was. Still, she was down there and he wanted to be beside her. "I don't have to leave for another day," he said, and his words sounded mournful to his ear.

"Me neither."

She leaned over and rested against him, and his fingers slid into her hair, playing with the strands as she continued to read. She flipped over to a set of medical charts, reports, nothing he could even hope to decipher, and she sighed again.

"I need a bath, Jean-Luc. It helps me think. You should come and join me." And she kissed him softly on the cheek.

* * *

The bathtub was certainly large enough for the both of them, and the air jets eased his sore muscles. He watched as she read her padd, holding it above the water. Occasionally, she let out a little hum, or tapped a note of some sort. He simply observed her, enjoying the familiar expression on her face that meant she was mulling over a challenge.

This was the first time he had seen that expression on her face when she was naked in a bathtub, covered in fragrant bubbles. She looked deliciously studious.

Finally, she set the padd down and looked over at him. "We have another day before we need to leave. I can't move forward on the research until I have access to Medical's facilities. So. Now what do we do?"

He reached out and grabbed her ankle, caressing her calf with his thumb. "We shall have to make the most of our day together, then."

 


	10. Chapter 10

He had come up behind her and slowly slid off her robe as she was sitting on the ledge, filling the bathtub. A gentle skim of his hand down her hip, the feel of fingers gently pulling back her hair to expose her neck, gentle kisses along her spine…ah, his touches. She had always enjoyed the guilty pleasure of his hands on her; being naked as he touched her was so much better.

Carefully, she tested the water, then slid into the tub with a quiet hiss. He joined her a moment later, his own robe discarded on the floor. He eased into the other end of the tub, bright eyes watching her for some instruction. So she lifted up the padd and began to read, a smile flitting across her face. After a moment, he settled down, stretched out, and his feet touched hers. He laid there in the water with an amused glint in his eyes, watching her.

His focus was disorienting, but she refused to stop. She  _had_  to finish this reading, keep reviewing these reports, because what if she could have taken action in that moment? But as she got to the end, it became obvious that she couldn't do a thing until she was at Medical. The anomalies acting as conduits to other universes were seemingly random, and she needed a larger sample of subjects to test for side effects, and the equipment to do so.

She often read in the tub. It was new to have invited someone else to join her. And as she read, she could feel his attention on her. Waiting deliberately there at the other end of the tub, patiently biding his time until she opened up to him. It was a reflection of their entire relationship.

So when she put the padd down on the ledge and stretched out her legs, letting her toes trail up his ankle to rest on his knees, she knew that she was lowering the barrier. The sensation of his thumb tracing circles against the side of her calf made things tighten low her in stomach. She watched as he sat up, water sliding down his chest (a very nice chest, dusted with a fine covering of hair, a chest she had appreciated over the years whens he had put him back together), then moved over her, arms on either side of her. She looked up at him as he lowered his head and kissed her.

His kiss was barely restrained. She didn't want restrained, confined. She needed him to help her block out the fact that the Federation was intruding on their time together, after they had waited entirely too long to push aside their fears. She reached up and gripped his shoulders, pulling him down. And she laid there under him, the water spilling over the side of the tub in waves, as his body pressed against hers and the length of him trapped between them, hard and insistent.

With a quiet groan, he pulled back, brushing bubbles off of her breasts, making her hiss in appreciation at the graze of his fingers. "Bed," he murmured. "I need you in the bed. Now." He stood and reached for a towel, helping her up. The air was cool, refreshing, and he wrapped the towel around her, reached for one for himself, and led her out of the tub, out of the bathroom and back into the bedroom. He spoke over his shoulder.

"I'd carry you, but if I fell, I'd never hear the end of it." She burst into laughter at his dry words, still gripping the towel between her breasts.

"But then again, I'd give up anything for you, Beverly. Anything." And he turned around, leaned forward and kissed her.

This time, it wasn't restrained at all. His hand pulled apart her towel and he grabbed her, pressing her against him. She could feel the length of him against her stomach, hard and promising.

* * *

They fit together so well. She eased into the lovemaking, appreciating the time he took to make her slick, wet, ready for him. It was still snug, though, even after he eased in. Deliciously tight. And now, he was maintaining this deliberate pace, gazing down at her like he was memorizing her expression. She was holding onto his shoulders, meeting his thrusts, needing more.

"Jean-Luc, I need more. I need you." His eyes flashed, and in response he grabbed her wrists and pulled them over her head in a startlingly smooth move and began to quicken his pace, curving just so, and she smiled up at him in joy.

They fit perfectly together.

* * *

He watched as she ate, the robe sliding down her shoulder as she raised her coffee mug for another sip. When they were on Earth, he would need to institute breakfasts sans clothing.

She caught his gaze with an impish smile, making him laugh under his breath. It was good to see her utterly relaxed and content around him.

He was going to miss her desperately.

With a sigh, he looked back at her and saw that she too had sobered. "Would you like to take a walk? It looks lovely out there," she said, nodding at the window.

 


	11. Chapter 11

The sun was bright as they walked along the paths, streaming through the trees. Occasionally, he saw a glimpse of another cabin through the forest, but mostly they were surrounded by a natural environment. He noticed how quiet she was and realized that he didn't have much to say, either. Or rather, he had too much to say. Too much to say before they were going to be separated again, entirely too soon-

He felt her slide her hand into his as they walked, and it calmed him.

"Don't get lost in another universe, Jean-Luc. I'll be waiting for you in this one."

He chuckled at her gentle scold, hearing the undercurrent of amusement in her voice, and he squeezed her hand. "I feel as though we should be making more plans, but I don't know how long I will be on the Enterprise."

"I know. I feel the same way. But when you come to Earth, I'll be there. And we have today, and tonight, at least."

He glanced over and saw her small smile as she looked at him. "We do have today. In many ways, it's more than we've ever had before."

* * *

"Have you heard from Wesley?"

She didn't look up from her padd, her reading, as she nearly imperceptibly shook her head. "No word for about eight months, now. The last time he sent me a message, he was in a quadrant the Federation has barely even explored."

He pulled her closer against him, pressing his lips against her hair, noticing the fresh mint scent, wondering how it got there or if that was just the way her hair smelled. "I'm sure he's fine," he murmured. She sighed and nestled under his arm, as if she was seeking comfort from his touch. He was going to miss the closeness when they were apart.

"Beverly, would you consider marrying me?" Merde, where did that come from? Well, he had thought about it over the years, but just in passing, and these past few days he had thought about it more seriously, but not in a way that he intended to share with her. It was a secret hope, a tender spot in his heart that he treasured and wondered about, but he didn't want to ask for too much too soon-

"Perhaps. We can think about it once we're together on Earth." And she lifted her head and pressed a kiss against his cheek, pulling back and smiling at him, threading her fingers through his. "That wasn't a no, Jean-Luc. Let's see what happens."

* * *

She had forgotten just how content she was when they were together. On the Enterprise, they spent a fair amount of time together, even beyond breakfasts. But there had always been the awareness of the crew, the ship all around. Tomorrow, they would be back in uniform and go their separate ways to fulfill their duty. But today, they were very deliberately living as though they had all the time in the world.

They had been sitting on the couch, both reading quietly, when he ended the companionable silence to ask about Wesley. She had known he was going to speak several moments before he actually did so; she had sensed when his thoughts sharpened and he wanted to say something, to ask her something. When he asked about Wesley, she wasn't that surprised; she wondered what Wesley would think if he knew how her relationship with Jean-Luc had changed, deepened.

And then when he asked her to marry him? Well, that certainly caught her off guard, but the look on his face made it quite obvious that he apparently didn't mean to ask her out loud. Which was fine. It was too soon to...well. It was too soon. They had to make it back to each other on Earth, first. Too many variables, too many what ifs that made her nervous. But she kissed him on the cheek, willing him to understand, and he softened under her gaze, nodded. Yes, he understood. It was too soon. It wasn't a no; it was just too soon.

Then his gaze sharpened, and his look made her stomach flip in anticipation. She could read him, and once again she realized that they were well matched. He leaned over, plucked the padd out of her hand and pressed his mouth against her neck. She found herself tongue tied, not able to speak, the slide of his fingers across the back of her neck as he nuzzled her jawline causing her to exhale a breathy sigh.

He captured her mouth and it was restrained, yet hungry. She gripped his forearms in appreciation and let herself fall into the sensation of being in the arms of the man she loved.

* * *

She was burning up. Her skin felt like it would ignite.

After having been carried (carried!) to the bedroom amid a riot of mutual giggles, she was laying on her stomach on the bed and her skin felt so hot, so sensitive it was all she could do to stay still. He was pressing open mouthed kisses down her spine as his hand gripped her hip. His fingers were between her and the bed, sliding against her hipbone in a way that made her imagine them between her thighs.

She squirmed and whimpered and felt his other hand slide between her legs, so close to her swollen lips. So close! She was so hot she could feel his warmth radiating off his arms and chest and she was sweating but she didn't care, she just needed him to touch her, to caress, to give her relief. She wiggled, trying to get him to move his fingers where she needed them and he pulled his hand back and suddenly smacked her bare cheeks, startling her immensely. What the hell.

"Ow! Damn it, Jean-Luc-" She started to lift her head in disbelief to look at him - and he flipped her over onto her back and she lost what she was saying, because seeing this side of him was just so utterly unexpected (well, no, actually, it made  _sense_ \- he had  _always_ been a passionate man, and the two of them had this precious, wonderful privacy, and she felt the connection too, and she fed off of his streak of control and possessiveness, reflecting it back to him, and it was good because really  _she adored it_ ) and she was nose to nose with him and his face - his face.  _God_. It was as if all of his attention he ever had was utterly focused on her.

She swallowed, nervous. Excited, aroused, but still...a little nervous.

He grabbed one thigh and pushed it up against her chest and with the other hand he slid his fingers across her nub, beginning a steady swirling caress, and she arched her back as a strangled sound escaped her throat. He maintained the pace, staring down at her, and her inner walls clenched with need.

And then he pushed her leg down to the side and slowly, deliberately entered her as he continued to slide his fingers against her. She closed her eyes with a moan.

 


	12. Chapter 12

She stood in the kitchen, looking out the window at the twin moons in the sky - one just a sliver, the other farther away but nearly full. Her water glass was on the counter, and she idly traced the rim with her finger. The first glimmers of dawn edged along the line of trees.

In a few moments, she would need to go back into the bedroom, where he was asleep, and pack her bag and prepare to leave. She needed to get to Medical, and he needed to go back to the Enterprise.

She had a bad feeling about what was ahead for the Federation.

* * *

The early morning light illuminated the bedroom; he had made the bed while she showered. She stepped into the bedroom, back in her red command uniform with the black placket. He was placing his own bag on the bed beside hers; he didn't look up at her, and she realized that he was being closed, careful.

His barriers had returned. It took her breath away for a moment, but then she realized that her own walls were up, too. They hadn't spoken to each other since the previous evening, when they had been intertwined with each other for…well. For a long time.

She slowly came over to him, stood next to him, looking down at their bags, side by side. She reached for his hand, thinking idly that it had been a long time since they had been in the same room and both been in uniform like they were now. His gentle kiss was sweet and sad, mirroring her inner turmoil.

* * *

He had been caught off guard by her desperate, needy hug as he had turned to enter his shuttlecraft. Their early morning together had been quiet, so quiet. He didn't know what to say to her, realizing that while they communicated so well without words, he was inarticulate when it came to making promises about an uncertain future.

Her nose was cold as she pressed it against his cheek, and when she drew back, he saw tears filling her eyes.

"Please don't cry. We'll be together soon," he murmured. And a flicker of something had crossed her face, quickly replaced by that slightly optimistic look she tended to muster in public, when she knew more about a situation than everyone else discussing it.

"I do love you, Jean-Luc. Be safe." And she had turned and entered her own shuttle, the hatch closing behind her, leaving him alone in the slowly falling snow, feeling like a piece of himself had just been broken off.

* * *

She tracked his shuttle in her viewer long after it had gone to warp. Should she had said more when they departed? What would she have said? Promises about how it would all work out? As always, there was no guarantee that he would make it to Earth in a timely manner. Making plans for the future just hurt her wounded, grieving heart.

With a sigh, she closed the tracker and gave her full attention to her own shuttle. The journey would be a welcome opportunity to order her thoughts; barring any complications, she would be at Medical in two days.

* * *

She woke up and  _knew_ that it had happened again. She had fallen asleep in her tidy little shuttle; she was waking up in a private surgery room, red sleeves covering her arms. A pair of red gloves were next to her head. It was all familiar somehow; she had regularly waited in a surgery room for away teams to return with their wounded. She saved time if she napped, or rested, right there in the room. Raising a hand, she felt the familiar red surgery cap containing her hair.

A quiet chirp, then figures materialized next to the bed – a mangled body on the floor and two doctors, who lifted the body onto the biobed. The woman called out. "He needs stabilized, Doctor-"

She stood. It was Jean-Luc. Or  _a_  Jean-Luc, at least. And his chest cavity had been scooped out as if a giant claw had removed half of his internal organs. It was not good. Underneath her professional focus that had snapped into place, an undercurrent of deep dread solidified.

So she began to work with the medical team to stabilize him, hoping that she would be able to stay in this universe until she ensured that this Jean-Luc would live. She would worry about getting home later.

* * *

As he stepped foot back onto the Enterprise after just a few uneventful hours on the shuttle, a part of him urged him to simply get back into the little roundabout and turn around and go to Earth. But…there was work to complete. And then he would be finished with the stars for a time, and he would go to Beverly, and they would be together.

The first officer was waiting for him with a smile, and Picard squared his shoulders and mustered up a pleasant expression in return.

* * *

This time, another damn ship slid into  _their_ universe. He hadn't been on the bridge more than half a shift when the sensors began to blare and energy spikes revealed an interloper. As he stood and ordered the intruder to appear on screen, he must have made a sound when the ship appeared. It was worn, dark, and askew in space.

A hail brought the sight of another Picard. A Picard with a scar around his exhausted eye, and a line of puckered skin from his neck into the collar of his torn uniform.  _Borg_. The sparse crew on the bridge looked worn, brittle, but focused. Before he could speak, the other captain began.

"We know that we cannot stay here long; the medical effects will catch up with our crew. We are willing to share medical knowledge in return for supplies."

The exchange was short, perfunctory, seeing as the other Picard looked ready to collapse. And after signing off and watching the other ship disappear into a previously invisible anomaly with a full compliment of supplies from the Enterprise, Picard sat on the bridge, lost in thought. He rubbed his face, wondering what hardships existed in that other universe, and whether there was a severe medical crisis ahead for the Federation.

 


	13. Chapter 13

Picard scrolled through the records from the other ship, organized with a familiar taxonomy, one that reflected his own research methods. At the forefront of the reports was the well-annotated research on the source of these rifts, these anomalies, and whether the Federation could stop more of them from appearing. The research was detailed, informative, yet inconclusive. He sensed the frustration, the edge of desperation, from the other Picard's notes and commentary.

But just as pressing was a portfolio of test results, lab work, and medical records of those who had gone into a rift and then returned. Sure enough, as the other captain had abruptly insinuated, there were profound concerns about those who had been through a rift and brought back. Concerns about phase shifting, DNA reorganization and eventual bodily deterioration.

Cellular deterioration turned this mystery into even more of a race against time. He pressed his fingertips against his lips, sitting there in his ready room, haunted with thoughts of Beverly. When she had been sitting there in the bathtub across from him, when she had been seated on the floor of the bedroom (their bedroom) in her robe, scrolling, sliding, thinking…she had  _known_. Known that this was a possibility. And that was why Medical recalled her. They needed her, needed her mind, her direction, her research.

The records did give the Federation a hint as to what to look for in order to avoid the rifts, so Picard passed along the entire portfolio to Science and Engineering, and they began recalibrating the ship's course, redirecting the vessel past hotspots in the quadrant, testing, always testing.

He pushed himself to the limit, reading, researching, visiting with crew. These rifts had to be stopped. if a ship was unable to return, they would be lost. And if a ship did return, the entire crew was at risk. So Picard walked around the ship, meeting with departments, supporting morale, losing himself to the mystery, keeping his mind occupied, always occupied.

Nights were the most difficult, though. During the day, even as he kept himself occupied, he craved the solitude of his quarters, but once he arrived, the silence was nearly too much. After just a short amount of time with Beverly by his side, not having her present was disconcerting. Disturbing. Wretched. It felt like an obsession, an inability to stop thinking about her. It was love, but also something more.

He was thankful for the time they had together, but he had no intention of letting her go. He was ideating about a life with her, a calming life, a life of working beside her. Her in the farmhouse, or perhaps he would stay in San Francisco with her and he would rest as she worked at Medical. He wanted to abandon this ship, leave the mysteries to those better equipped to hurtle through space.

Was this depression? A depressive episode? Or was he simply finished with the stars for a while, ready to rest?

* * *

As she finished the surgery and looked down at her work (She did a damn good job if she said so herself. He was stable. Including his heart. His biological heart, not the artificial heart with the titanium valves…but of course she was covered in blood and gore, even with the stasis fields in place, and it wasn't  _her_  Jean-Luc's blood, but a slide of panic still fluttered in her throat and she pushed it down, because now was  _not_ the time) she stepped back and glanced up to see the other two doctors staring at her with wariness in their expressions and their stances.

"You're not our Doctor Picard," the man stated quietly, but firmly, hand drifting towards the phaser at his hip, not bothering to disguise his movement. Beverly arched an eyebrow at the name, but shook her head, grateful for the distraction, now that the medical crisis was averted. Hopefully these doctors didn't plan on incapacitating her, now that the patient was stable.

"No, I'm not. Can you get me home?" She realized that her throat was sore, tight and her shoulders ached with tension.  _How long have I been operating?_ The woman nodded, then tapped her comm badge. "Sickbay to Commander Riker. We've got another one."

* * *

The transporter beamed her back into her shuttle; apparently, this universe was able to use transporters through a rift. Intriguing - but the security implications were disastrous. However, she didn't have time to think about that. She looked down and opened her palm. Nestled within her hand was a memory chip that contained her counterpart's entire research portfolio. The doctors had given it to her carefully, discreetly, as they had waited for the transporter room to announce her imminent departure.

"Use this. It belonged – belongs – to Doctor Picard. She was working on this when she was taken." The female doctor had pressed it into her hand, and the male doctor nodded solemnly, seriously. Beverly had the realization that they were somehow putting themselves at extreme risk by giving her this memory chip.

Then she was whisked away with no warning, captured by a transporter beam, and the walls of her shuttle appeared around her.

* * *

She had never been so happy to arrive at Medical. Perhaps if she stayed on a planet, she wouldn't be thrown into another universe. But she was exhausted. Simply exhausted. She hadn't slept at all since being returned to her shuttle, too afraid of somehow being separated from her vessel again and sent somewhere else. So she filled up the time reading, creating models, delving into her counterpart's research.

Knowing she was basically useless until she had a night of rest, she had sent along the research and her progress, requesting a lab and a dedicated research team. And she docked her shuttle in San Francisco and went to her little apartment that she had maintained all these years at the edge of the city.

The air was cool and dry as she walked through the threshold. It had been years since she had been here. She dropped her swing pack on the clear surface of the kitchen table and stepped up to the window that looked out over the water.

The last time she had stood in front of a window, looking out onto a world, Jean-Luc had been beside her.

The strangled, quiet sob that had been resting in her chest since she left the planet rose up from her core. And leaning against the window, she began to weep.

 


	14. Chapter 14

He turned from the window as the chime sounded and for a moment he thought about simply not answering. But of course he had called the meeting after too many sleepless nights, and if he cancelled she would contact him daily until he maintained the appointment. So he walked over and opened the door portal. The grey eyes of the counselor raised to meet his; her arms were crossed loosely behind her back, and she was in uniform. He realized that she was making it obvious to anyone observing that she was making a professional visit, not revealing that this was in fact a counseling appointment.

"May I?" Her polite request (she always requested, never assumed) came with a tilted chin, and he stepped aside for her to enter. She made a perfunctory glance around his quarters, then chose to go and sit at the table, which was somewhat surprising. He expected her to choose a chair or even the couch. Carefully, he sat down across from her, laying his palms flat on the cool surface. The last time he had sat across a table from someone else, Beverly had been the person across from him.

The counselor folded her hands on the tabletop, and vaguely Picard noted the scaled ridges trailing into her uniform sleeves, markers of her part-Cardassian heritage. Had he accepted her posting because he wanted to test himself after his experiences with the Gul? Even after all these years, occasionally the horror came floating back in his dreams. With a start, he realized that he had been sitting motionless for some time, staring at her hands. He raised his eyes and met her steady gaze, noting the subtle ridges around and across her face, framing her patient eyes.

She was waiting for him to speak. She would wait for hours, if needed. This is why he had been opening up to her over the previous weeks. She was always there, always waiting, and he realized that finally, finally, he was ready to speak with her.

He cleared his throat and began to push the words out. "I think I need I'm finished with the Enterprise. I never should have come back. My heart belongs elsewhere. With someone."

* * *

From: Crusher, Admiral Beverly; Starfleet Medical

To: Picard, Admiral (Acting Captain) Jean-Luc; USS Enterprise

Jean-Luc,

As I was sharing in our last transmission before I was called away (sorry about that – I know you understand; that's why I'm writing a message. It seems that we are less likely to be interrupted when we send old-fashioned written correspondence to each other), we've made substantial progress in managing the cellular deterioration. I've included a packet of information with this message. Please pass it along to your Chief Medical Officer, and if he has any questions, have him contact me directly. My research team would value his contributions.

Now, to rest your concerns you were attempting to voice: I'm fine. Perfectly fine. My own cellular deterioration has been halted, as in all of the humanoid subjects. And your crew should be safe, as well, as long as they don't go through a rift. The next step in our research is to determine whether we can regress the changes. But even if we cannot, I do not see any imminent danger of additional deterioration in any patients exposed to the anomalies. So, I'm fine. Stop worrying about me.

I do miss you, though. Desperately. Finish up your work out in the stars, and then come to Earth. I'll be waiting for you.

Yours,

Beverly

* * *

The distress signal contained the signature of a smaller Federation vessel - it was the most basic, simple message a ship could transmit, broadcast on all frequencies, used only when there was no hope left. Picard scrolled through the words, then saw the addition – a giant packet of information. Preliminary specs of an unknown vessel, battle tactics against the ship, then the results of implementation, abruptly cut off as if the Federation ship's transmission ended unexpectedly. As though the ship had been destroyed through battle or an auto destruct sequence.

Picard put the Enterprise on yellow alert as he absorbed the data, hearing the security team behind him on the bridge begin to mutter. Then the Enterprise rocked, and the enemy ship came out of cloak. It was unfamiliar, a sleek vessel, dark and elongated, wielding an energy beam that carved a slice out of one nacelle, causing alarms to shriek all across the bridge.

Picard wasn't about to let the Enterprise fall without a fight. "Evasive maneuvers, and full attack."

* * *

Moments later, Picard watched the enemy ship explode on the viewscreen in a silent burst of yellow and white sparks. He sucked in a breath, then another, carefully unclenching his hands from the armrests. Swiping blood away from his forehead, hissing silently at the sting, he looked around at the bridge crew. They were all alive, which was more than he had expected. Battered, bruised, some burned, but all alive.

The Enterprise was nearly dead in space. Minimal warp capabilities, part of hull simply sliced away from that odd weapon. Pockets of the ship had internal damage from the few creatures who were able to board.

There were casualties.

Picard took another breath. The Enterprise had no hope of continuing the survey mission in its condition. "Helm, set a course for the closest shipyard."

"The Sol system, sir?"

"Yes."

* * *

The celebratory mood behind Beverly Crusher faded into the background as she read her padd. She had given the research team a bottle of champagne to celebrate their accomplishment; there was in fact a way to reverse the cellular deterioration, and their results were being transmitted across the quadrant even as they toasted their successful research.

Beverly covered her mouth in horror as she continued to read. A gentle touch upon her shoulder brought her back to the research lab, and she looked up to see a host of concerned faces staring at her.

"Admiral?" The biologist met her eyes with a concerned look, and the rest of the team regarded her worriedly. With a sigh, Beverly posted the confidential report on the main viewer on the wall. Stifled gasps, then a tense silence fell throughout the lab.

Three Federation ships were completely destroyed. Twenty-seven were severely compromised and in need of external assistance, either headed to Earth or awaiting a tow to the nearest star base. Detailed data on the enemy ships – sleek, unfamiliar war vessels - was lacking. The only confirmation was that the ships came out of three of the rifts. Federation patrols were assembling around all known rifts in wait of other invaders.

Beverly looked back down at her padd and brought up the table of compromised ships. The Enterprise was listed in stark, emotionless typeface.

 


	15. Chapter 15

She had stepped into her office to try to catch her breath, not caring what the rest of the team thought at her response to the list of ships. Seeing the Enterprise on that list had pushed her into a primal, dark place, one where her reality enfolded upon itself, and all she could hear was a rushing of blood in her head as her vision blurred. But after a few seconds, she sucked in a breath as she realized that the Enterprise was not destroyed, but was merely (merely?) compromised, and therefore presumably on the way to a shipyard for refitting and repairs. And she had taken her padd and gone into her private office, all alone, closing the portal behind her. She was clammy and there was a bitter, metallic taste in her mouth, and distantly she realized that she was going to be sick.

Afterwards, she sat on the cool floor of her lavatory for several moments, resting her head and back against the wall, feeing the emptiness in her stomach since she had lost the meal she had recently consumed and telling herself that she was finished because there was nothing left, thank you very much. She knew that this physical reaction to the fear of loss was sadly familiar. Just a few years ago, she would have berated herself for her weakness, for caring too much, for allowing herself to want something so deeply knowing that it could still be pulled away in a heartbeat. But she wasn't about to let him go because she was afraid of loss.

With a swallow and a shaky sigh, she got up and rinsed her mouth out, glancing up at her reflection in the mirror above the sink. She looked haggard, older, like she was already grieving - she knew what grieving looked like on her face.

With a sharply inhaled breath, she shook herself, shaking off the darkness, calculating in her head. If the Enterprise was headed to the closest shipyard, it would be in the Sol system within two days.

Two days. She could wait two days. And then she would go to Jean-Luc.

* * *

She transported onto the Enterprise, and immediately she was struck by the lack of sound. No engine movement, a minimum of ambient noise since so many systems had been taken offline, and only the gentle hum of life support was evident in the transporter room. The transporter chief at the terminal nodded at her, flicking his eyes down to her pips, straightening at the presence of an admiral. Beverly smiled gently at his surprise.

"At ease, chief. I'm just here to meet a…friend."

* * *

As she slowly walked through the darkened corridors she saw very few crew. Those she saw were working in teams or carrying equipment, presumably for repairs, and they spared her no glances. It was strange to be back on a ship that felt so lifeless. Her steps were muted, nearly silent.

She stepped into the lift, realizing that she didn't know exactly where he would be, but she trusted her instincts. The lift rattled a bit on its journey, unsettling her. Then the doors opened, revealing a deserted bridge. The viewer was offline, grey and blank, consoles were dark, some with cracked surfaces, and dark soot streaked up the side wall as if there had been a fire or explosion. Carefully, she stepped out of the lift, continuing to look around, and then she saw him sitting in the command chair, staring at the darkened screen ahead.

* * *

He heard the lift doors open and assumed it was another clean up crew, one that would ignore him like the others did, leaving him to his thoughts, his internal musings. But there was no conversation from the team, no sounds of movement or repairs beginning, and he turned and looked behind him.

Beverly was walking slowly down the ramp, looking straight at him.

Surprised, he stood carefully, still favoring his right side, meeting her gaze. Her face was neutral, nervous, and she was in uniform, the blue admiral's uniform, this time, the one that made her eyes simply radiant. She met him in the middle of the silent bridge, stopping right in front of him. All he could hear was the sound of her breathing; there were no chirps, no ambient noise. A touch of fresh mint in the air, cutting through the dust and hint of metallic smoke still lingering throughout the bridge.

"You're hurt," she murmured, eyes flicking from the gash on his forehead to his shoulder and arm that he held out carefully from his body. He noticed that her hand flicked towards a non-existent tricorder in the pocket of her smock that she wasn't wearing, and his mouth quirked up in a slight smile.

"I thought I'd wait to be treated by my favorite doctor," he quietly stated, and her eyes flicked back up to meet his. Merde, she was lovely. He was never going to leave her side again.

Her brows lifted in surprise, and he realized that he had spoken out loud. He smiled, then, fully, and took her hand and kissed the back of it, then turned it over and pressed his lips against her palm, closing his eyes in contentment at her presence, hearing her quiet sigh and he felt her fingers cup his cheek and gently caress his face. When he opened his eyes, she was gazing at him, and her eyes were rimmed in red, but she was smiling at him.

"Welcome home, Jean-Luc."

 


End file.
